


Deathless

by Requiemesque



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Journey, Minor Violence, Near Death Experiences, Optimistic Ending, Post-Mission, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sex, Trauma, Veterans, Violence, War, team bae, very light suggestive themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiemesque/pseuds/Requiemesque
Summary: When Becky returned to her, the air stood still.  Sasha had toiled through both dreams and nightmares a thousand and one times for every time her soul had longed for Becky - each of them a unique permutation of the one thing that was never going to happen. The reality was nothing quite like it. [STRONGLY ADVISE YOU TO READ THE TAGS]
Relationships: Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox
Comments: 33
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was a bit hard to decide on whether or not to write this. Please read tags & archive warnings. This story deals with the life of a person post-mission/war. I promise that there's been the utmost attempt to be sensitive about the topic that's going to be handled, but if this is a trigger for you, I'd strongly advise to not read this fanfiction.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> P.S.  
> To my friend, Marc, this is for you.

**Deathless**

* * *

**I.**

**This is life, he thinks, this is why we live, to play like this on a day when winter is finally releasing its grip.**

_“How do you feel right now?”_

_“Fantastic.”_

* * *

It was a particularly lazy afternoon when Sasha heard the second-most important knock in her life. It could have been anything, really. With the weight of law school rapidly beating her down to a slump, what was the delivery of overdue bills going to do to her?

She was wrong though, she knew it the instant that uniformed men greeted her with polite smiles and wrinkled faces. They look like they had survived at least forty winters. Behind them lay an array of United States flags that varied in sizes but it didn’t matter because Sasha’s heart had already raced past frivolous notions of patriotism. 

When the shortest man spoke, his voice was gravelly but it didn’t feel like it had always been that way. Trauma proves that a couple of decades spent doused in whiskey and cigar - and the most angelic of voices turn into the grittiest of growls. “Ma’am, is this the house of Ms. Banks?”

Sasha knew it. She knew what they were there for, and she could feel preemptive grief clog her throat and suddenly it was harder to breathe. Her blood ran so cold that she could barely hear the words ‘Yes’ escape her throat, nor could she feel the tip of her fingers cover her lips. Every part of her body immediately learned how to pray. 

“...discovered that the reconnaissance squad had been ambushed. A few have been confirmed dead, including their Sergeant Charlotte Flair.”

“Rebecca Lynch, so far, has been declared MIA.” 

Somewhere along the way, the calls had stopped. And at that point in time, Sasha can finally confirm the dread that had been creeping from the hateful corners of her chest. Everybody knew what MIA meant, and it was only a matter of time.

The sun had glared so brightly that day she almost fainted.

* * *

It took an eon before food had stopped tasting like dirt in her mouth; it took at least twice the amount of time before she could sleep without interruptions feeling like the beginnings of a heart attack; it will probably take forever before she could learn how to move past the first stage of grief - perpetually suspended in the clutches of denial. There is nothing worst than treading the tightrope of ambiguity. 

But the world is constantly spinning, and schools view grief as some sort of a metered process; so she tried. If every day didn’t get _actually_ better, it was because Sasha had gotten better at pretending that it was. 

She kept grief tucked in her pocket like a little sin, like a careless tendency to think that maybe Becky could still be alive. 

Every month that passed in radio silence and a pyramid of case digests didn’t help, but she didn’t want to forget her face. 

Forgetting is such a bitter end. 

She loved her _so much._

They were going to get married.

* * *

It had been five months since, and Sasha had slowly rediscovered the beauty in _little things;_ in the fellowship of people that weren’t Becky. Everything starts out slow, everyone is but a name without an identity of their own; it took a bit of time before she could stop comparing the dollar-store dye of the librarian to Becky’s locks that seemed like it could go on for forever. For the first three months she had called out every liquor bottle to bring back Becky, she had looked for her face in the halls of their home, in the dark, in every harrowing park they’ve visited. She had mourned her absence like every fluid in her body only ever produced tears. 

_Pick yourself up Sasha_ , she had told herself until the time comes in which she’ll believe it. _Pick yourself up Sasha,_ the people around her had assured empathy in times that need be. She needed to believe it, more than anybody else, so she did. In the process of rebuilding her life one immersive case study at a time, the most important knock of her life happened. 

When Becky returned to her, the air stood still. Sasha had toiled through both dreams and nightmares a thousand and one times for every time her soul had longed for Becky - each of them a unique permutation of the one thing that was never going to happen. The reality was nothing quite like it. 

The woman before her was more than a couple of pounds underweight; and she swore that if people could run faster than time, Becky had impossibly done so in a few months to get to Sasha. Age defined creases that didn’t exist before. The valleys of her collarbones were so deep that it could hold all the pain locked behind vacant eyes. Becky was so pale that ghosts crowded around her, inviting her to come back to whatever hell she crawled out of. And still, Sasha thought she was so beautiful. 

“Baby?” Becky muttered, her voice frail like thin glass. “I’m home.”

* * *

A million questions pop in her mind, each uniquely labyrinthine. She would rather not think. It can all come later. The fact is that Becky was _alive_ , and that was all that mattered. She could feel tears swell from her eyes. It didn't matter from what emotion. Becky was back.

Life can finally pick-up, and in the way that they had originally planned.

There are a lot of things people can prepare for. For Sasha, Becky’s return wasn’t one of them. Sleepless nights and blurry days for the months past taught her to defend against the cruelty of expectations. But she can remember everything; every bit of meal and music that Becky liked engraved at the back of her hands. She knew these things and they occupied her head all at once, wrestling for priority. 

They’ve been sitting for what felt like forever just staring at each other on the sofa. 

Becky was the one that broke the silence and Sasha felt disappointment cloud over her head for the lack of trying. 

“So, uhh… Beer?” 

“Oh! Yes,” Sasha shifted awkwardly, but relief brightened her movement.

_It’s okay. It’s okay._

Uncomfortable air filled the void that the lack of words had left, Sasha hasn’t gotten up her spot yet. She had been trying to read Becky and it was exhaustion that stared right back.

"I'm sorry," Sasha sighed, apologizing out of thin air. "I just-I'm so glad you're back."

Becky returned a tight-lipped smile that failed to illuminate her impenetrable eyes. “Me too.”

 _Are you cold?_ She wanted to ask. _Was it cold out there? What happened to you? Did you think about me like I cried about you? Where did that scar come from? Where did you come from?_ There are many things that she wanted to ask, but for today she settled with, “Do you want peanuts with your beer?”

_Tomorrow we’re going to do better._

"The only way I'd take it."

* * *

The next few days have been surreal. Sasha couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s been living in a dream - on borrowed time. They almost instantly fell into old patterns, it was clear that they were a couple cut to fit the mold of marriage. Becky picked up the habit of having a million habits: from sculpting to repairing appliances that were far from broken to all of a sudden rekindling her interest for videogames. Sasha took advantage of this mosaic of a routine to cook every dish remotely close to delicious to fill out Becky’s gaunt cheeks. Apart from that? Sasha’s hobby became just watching Becky.

“Babe?” Sasha sat beside her fiance, two cups of coffee on hand, her fingers itching to refamiliarize themselves not only with the outline of Becky’s face but the stories that marked Becky’s skin. 

“Yeah Baby?” Becky responded, unaware of anything else but the frustrating attempt to carve out a chunk of wood into something recognizable.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“What-” _What happened?_ Sasha bit her lip. “-are you up to?”

“Some woodwork, trynna’ make this into a butterfly.”

“That’s beautiful,” Sasha didn’t technically lie if she was referring to the attempt rather than the product - and really, she just wanted to extend the conversation. _Please give me something to work with._

“Thanks.” 

* * *

They didn’t talk beyond short conversations, as if their mouths were still trying to catch up and decipher the language of lost time. Words, after all, were landmines. Because Sasha was far from an idiot. Things had been surreal because they _were_.

A couple of days into the veneer of normalcy and Sasha noticed a lot of things. How there was never a break between the cycle of food and hobby; how Becky would always light two cigarettes and never smoke the other; how a dangerous glint would cross her eyes at the smell of the air right before it rains; how Becky’s gaze passed through everything like a wandering ghost, but it hurt that it passed through _everyone_.

From that moment, Sasha knew to dance carefully around thousands of traps before she could reach Becky. Performativity can only last for so long.

* * *

It was a particularly cold evening and Sasha’s nose was buried deep amid thick readings as her back rested comfortably against the bed’s headboard. Autumn nights carried the misfortune of rain tapping lightly against the windows of their bedroom. That never bothered Sasha. 

But Becky was twitching and her eyes were shut so tight that she was most likely awake. Sasha could feel nervousness vibrate out of Becky like the light buzzing of an exposed electrical wire that’s afraid to touch water. The crease on her forehead never seemed to disappear. Her legs kept on shifting and Sasha hated that she had absolutely no idea what it was that was chasing Becky.

Her eyebrows twitched violently that Sasha didn’t know what else she could do but hold Becky’s hands. It didn’t radiate the same warmth as before. Becky wasn’t that _same_ individual. She realized those things as cold leeched into the sleeping woman’s bones and she unconsciously threw an arm around Sasha’s legs, safely hooking it tight beside her chest.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sasha leaned down, adjusting to the uncomfortable position. “Baby, just tell me what’s wrong.”

She wanted to whisper more assurances, hoping that at least one of them would cleanse like a silent benediction but Becky kept on tossing and turning such that her lips never caught a steady ear.

Sasha stayed up until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings always apply.

* * *

**II.**

**...People said I was brave. When my father left, people said I was brave. But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Don’t you do the same?” He says, “Not in years. But today. Today maybe I did.”**

_“Do you want to talk about your friends?”_

_“There’s nothing to talk about.”_

_“Well, would you like to talk about anything? We have more than a few minutes to spare.”_

_“One was blonde, fell to a landmine. The other was a bottle blonde, fell to stupidity.”_

* * *

Sasha woke up to the rhythmic clanging of heavy metal against pavement. As it came in successions and calculated rests, Sasha immediately knew that Becky had been noisily hitting the garage’s gym. It was five in the morning and she had schoolwork that has been accumulating over the past few days. 

_Did you sleep last night?_ “You’ve always hated deadlifts.” Sasha rubbed her eyes with coffee on hand as she leaned against the garage’s doorway. 

She didn’t get an answer immediately, but it was understandable because the other woman had been in the middle of a set - the barbell looked heavier than what she’s accustomed to seeing Becky lift. A couple of repetitions and Sasha surmised that she’s probably never going to get used to the sight of Becky in front of her. Despite being almost too thin, Becky managed to retain a little bit of muscles and a hell lot of strength; she couldn’t help but both marvel and tremble at the implications. She wasn’t sure if it’s a box that she wanted to open. 

But it had to be opened, at one point. 

“The more ya’ hate it, th’more you have to do it.” Becky dumped the barbell, rather clumsily that it created an explosive thump - just the echo alone startled Sasha. 

She was so sure that Becky gave her a look and it betrayed one that is not of apologies. She ignored the slight dip in her chest with a twinkle in her eye. “...I guess so. Well, what do you feel like eating today?”

“Don’t know... What do ya want?” 

_To talk._ “Mmm, I’m thinking of chicken? How do you feel about that?” 

Becky picked up the barbell once again, displacing a couple of more pounds as she switched into a different exercise. “Sounds good.” 

_Did you even fall asleep? Last night?_

The woman looked extremely focused, her eyes fixed on a place where Sasha couldn’t follow, like the walls of their garage told of a time where things were simpler - and it just repeats the same tale over and over again. Her eyes were so wide open that Sasha wonders if it was because she _sees_ more when they’re closed. So even if Sasha wanted to say anything, she was wholly certain that the woman wouldn’t hear her. 

She hated, _hated,_ hated how useless she has been. 

But it has to come from Becky.

* * *

The afternoon was reserved for long paragraphs and latin phrases. Constitutional Law was definitely a topic close to Sasha’s heart; the evolving face of polity was a continuing story that she would forever be grateful for - especially living in the modern era whereas life could have been _much, much_ harder. Today was about landmark cases; of heroes - that fought for their right to be treated as civilians, that risked angry tides so that they could plant the torches of liberty for everyone. _For her_.

She had to wonder, what makes a hero- _a hero_ ? Becky appeared at the corner of her mirror, seemingly dressed to leave, and Sasha caught her own thoughts. She just wasn’t about to go _there_ … _not again_ \- possibly not ever.

“Becky?” Sasha stood up from where she sat. “Do you need anything?”

The other woman sighed, tiredly looking back at Sasha. “No uh. Just gotta’ go somewhere. Therapist called and all.”

 _Therapist_. Becky had never mentioned being under therapy, and she had barely left the house since returning. Sasha smiled through, letting out a nervous laughter. “I-umm… I didn’t know that you were undergoing therapy.” This wasn’t exactly how she imagined _opening up._

“Well you didn’t ask.” Becky deadpanned, roaming the shoe rack just beside their door. 

Sasha could feel irritation brew from under her feet, giving them the altitude to stride towards Becky. She got so close to her that she felt all the words in her mouth dry up from the heat of Becky’s stare. 

She took a couple of steps back, the blur of emotions in her head uncluttering into a feeling of betrayal. “I thought that I wouldn’t have to ask..” Sasha’s voice weakened. 

Becky froze from where she was standing, her back still turned from Sasha. “It’s just a requirement from the people up there.”

 _Requirement?_ She felt her heart sink, dread crawling from under her skin.

“Becky, how ba-” _How bad is it. What are you going through? Where the f-_ “Where have you been?”

Becky seemed to have found the shoes she was looking for, she had actively avoided anything remotely close to having laces. “Just around, okay? I’ve just been around.”

“Around? Becky, I…” Sasha looked down and shook her head, the world around her getting quieter and quieter; the rest of the questions that had filled her head withering into a specific realization. “How long have you been _around_?” 

Finally, she sighed and faced Sasha. If the air weren’t so still, Sasha swore that she wouldn’t have heard Becky’s confession. “...about a month.” 

Sasha’s breath hitched. 

“Sash… I have to-”

“Go… Yeah me too. I think I’m gonna… go study. ”

The sound of a door closing had never sounded so piercing.

* * *

By the time Sasha was halfway through a lecture, she still felt like there was a noise in her mind that had been bargaining for attention. _Think about Becky_ , they say. The truth is that thoughts are deceptive and a one-way ticket to a labyrinth where anxiety is found at every dead-end. So when they say, _think about Becky,_ what they mean is, _think about betrayal. Think about estrangement. Think about the stranger that you see whenever a person named Rebecca refuses to kiss you_. 

She rubbed her temples, the distractions are distracting her from her current distraction.

So it was just divine when the doorbell rang, but she really wasn’t ready to look at Becky. But that was really just the thing about commitment: it peddles What-Could-Bes so expertly, you wouldn’t even know if you were a few steps away from stuck. So she answered the doorbell.

* * *

“I really didn’t know that you were going to drop by today,” Sasha said as she sliced through the apple crumble pie. 

“Well what did you expect? You weren’t showing up to classes for the past few days. I was _worried._ I knew that I just _had_ to show up with your favorite.” Bayley said with a mouthful of ice cream. “I swear to god the next text I get asking about online submissions will give me _PTSD._ ”

Sasha forced a smile, but the way that her fingers had stopped trying to fork a bite from the piece told Bayley that the statement had been far from welcome. 

Upon the realization, Bayley immediately dropped everything. “Oh shit dude, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s cause I… It’s okay, you weren’t used to it anyway.” Sasha sighed.

Exhaustion sat between them like a pesky revelation.

Bayley cleared her throat, and it almost looked like she was reaching for Sasha’s hands but halted halfway. “...Something tells me that that was more than just a sigh.” 

Sasha massaged the back of her head, her face falling into a downcast gaze. “It’s been dif-” _An engagement is a private affair._ Her mouth so desperately wanted to chase the pace of her head, but she is thankful that it didn’t. “...No, I just - I’m having trouble adjusting I guess; what with classes and all. I still have to cook the chicken for Becky when she comes back.”

“I’ll help! My family has a bomb recipe for roast.” Sasha has never seen a grin that wide for a piece of information that’s been told a thousand times. It was a little warm, she had to admit. 

“I’m distinctly _aware_ .” Sasha laughed, patronizing the world’s most supportive _friend_.

“But seriously? I’m here for you dude.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

* * *

Bayley’s presence was an anchor navigating Sasha towards the coasts of normalcy. It is an entirely different kind of relief to be cutting spring onions with your hands moving to its own accord when she’s been sailing within the eye of a storm. The luxury of looseness is just so often understated. 

“You space out so much that I wouldn’t hire you in my granny’s restaurant.” She heard Bayley say, it might have been a joke. 

She raised her brows at the heartbreaking attempt at comedy. “I’m sorry, was that supposed to be funny? Bay don’t quit your day job, kay?”

Bayley summoned the most exaggerated look of offense as she turned her back from Sasha. 

“You’ve got to be kidding…”

A burst of flour met Sasha’s face as Bayley whirled her hand towards her. Every grain of it - a kind of happiness that she just yet, cannot have with Becky. “You bitch!” 

They burst into a fit of ugly laughter, the kind that would have schoolboys retreating to find a different pair of girls to court. But even Sasha had to admit that even an echo of a laughter was something that the house needed. It had been bruised tender with harrowing silence if not cries. Even at the onset of Becky’s return, the house had been frozen with estranged politeness and muted resentment - it was so cold that it could hold icy secrets in the living room, and they would never melt. 

But ice melts, walls collapse, masks unveil, and the music that empowers charades eventually stops. 

Becky cleared her throat. “I picked up mail along the way.” She tossed a couple of envelopes to the sofa by the living room which stood across the kitchen.

Sasha was not at all sure when Becky arrived, just that tension filled the room like suffocating gas for reasons she was not sure of. “-Becky, I…”

Bayley barreled through Sasha, excitedly extending a hand towards her fiance. “You must be Becky! I heard so much about you, I’m Bayley. Sasha and I have been classmates since we started law school.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” As Becky shook Bayley’s hand, her gaze never left Sasha. It was the first time that Sasha had felt like Becky was really, and she means _really_ , looking at _her_. 

When Sasha prayed for Becky to stop staring through her, this wasn’t the answer that she wanted. It was ferocious as it was uncomfortable. 

“Bayley got you your favorite... apple crumble pie… she was just about to leave.” Sasha swallowed thickly.

* * *

“So who _is_ Bayley?” 

It was the blackest of night, and not even the moon could illuminate an object on the horizon. Sleep had escaped Sasha and it appeared as if it most definitely went past Becky too.

“She’s a friend, babe.” Sasha mentally sighed. 

“How did you guys meet?”

“She was my classmate in Property Law.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“As you should,” Sasha said, finality lacing her tone like venom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Sex  
> Violence  
> Trauma

* * *

**III.**

**How do you ever know for certain that you are doing the right thing?**

_“Do you feel like you could be a harm to yourself or to others?”_

_“Oh you mean, when we offed hundreds of people? Totally.”_

_“...You know that’s not what I meant.”_

* * *

Dreams are primordial, they are the undoing of finesse and the haven of that which is vicious. They were everything true escaping. There were nights when Sasha would hear subdued growls, and sometimes they would be quiet whimpers. But tonight it was nothing. Becky was quiet as a heartbeat, still - like deep waters. She breathed like a newborn, the swelling and decline of her chest matching the music on her face.

“Where are you right now?” She thought aloud, the book on taxes has long been cold and abandoned. “Where _were_ you?”

She didn’t even know what to call what it was that was heavy sitting in her lungs, but it had drawn it strength from the dark of night - when the world is silent and the thoughts are loud. 

_I should’ve seen you_ , she seethed. _You only ever go to one fucking bar._

Becky hid from Sasha, she was much certain of that. As quickly as the realization crashed, the meaning behind Becky’s stare had shifted. Every bit of word in retrospect had distaste trailing after it like a cloak made of ashes. She wanted so bad to close the windows of her heart so that at least, she wouldn’t hate Becky.

Dim light illuminated the deep contours of Becky’s face, and even then she was someone unrecognizable. Even though they were shut, Sasha just _knew_ that the light behind her eyes had long been extinguished. 

She grimaced at the irony, because _actually_ , she didn’t _know._

_I don’t care where you’ve been._

_Just take me with you._

_I’ll understand. I’ll understand if it was hell or high water. If you’ve had to slice your way out of the grave. If you had to learn how to be heartless. I’ll try to understand. Because Becky I am not your enemy._

* * *

It was difficult to learn how to not make too much coffee. Becky’s absence had taught her a lot of things: like being fine with sleeping in the middle of a big and empty bed, like locking the door because no one else would be arriving. The morning dawned with the same light found at the end of the tunnel, because today, Sasha didn’t have to make coffee at all.

“Morning babe,” Becky greeted her with the warmth of a smile and the smell of eggs. “I was hoping you’d still be asleep cause’ I am nowhere near done.”

Sasha rubbed her eyes just to confirm that it wasn’t a dream. 

It was a little odd. “Smells good.” She didn’t know if it was an improvement.

Pulling out a chair from the dining table, Becky waited for Sasha to descend from the stairs. She eyed every single step. “Well, now that you’re here uh. Ham or bacon?” 

It was too drastic. 

“Any would be good.” Sasha sat herself down, supposedly gathering the utensils when Becky took it before Sasha was able to and set it on her plate. “Thanks...” 

Becky laughed, seemingly in disbelief more than anything else. “ _Any_ ?” She shook her head and for a while it seemed as if she wanted to continue the thought - but it had retreated at the tip of her tongue like subsiding fire. If Sasha could convince herself, it was possible that Becky’s jaw tightened enough to render a visible vein on her neck. “...Well you should try the eggs. I discovered mayonnaise, and I gotta’ say. They’re _eggcellent_.” 

She looked like she held her breath for a reaction, so Sasha smiled. “These are good.” The eggs were a little bit too raw.

“So are you- are you doing anything tonight?” Becky sounded nervous as she sat down, a chair away from Sasha. She took a deep breath, or maybe two. “C-Cause I rented a DVD, I was hoping that we could cook some apple crumble and meat pie together... then watch some romcom. Y’know? Like, uh. Like what we talked about before…”

 _Before the calls had stopped_ , Sasha completed the thought in her head. It was just the beginning of the day and she already found herself treading the fine line that separated understanding and patronizing. It had been difficult for her, too. 

If only they - everyone who had asked - knew the feeling of checking the mailbox and the telephone every second of the day. If they only _knew_ how haunted the mind can be when you’re not sleeping enough, not eating enough, not sober enough. If they just knew the bizarre feeling of the fear of being right.

Brief flashes of trauma played out in her head before Sasha finally caught the invitation, almost immediately wanting to slap herself for making Becky wait.

Of all days. Becky had chosen the day of her exam. 

“I’m…” _Words are landmines. Words are landmines. Words are landmines._ “I’m really sorry, I have midterms scheduled for this afternoon till’ night. Then it’s a class review in the morning... I’ll try my best to get home early, I’ll text you if I can’t.”

She looked down, Becky’s reaction being the last thing she ever wanted to see. 

Sasha followed up, because there were no sufficient explanations to abandoning someone you love. “I’d love to cook with-” She rummaged for one that felt remotely close to enough. “Becky… I’m failing my classes.” It was true.

“Is Bayley going to be there?”

_I thought we were over this._

“...Yes.”

Words were landmines.

This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at all. “Becky… listen, she’s my _classmate._ There is nothing between us. Please trust me.” _All my life, it’s been you. All you. Just you, and I fucking hate it._

Becky’s knuckles grew paler, and all of a sudden it looked like she had regressed towards what she was when she had first arrived. 

“I’m going to hit the gym.” If that wasn’t a response, Sasha was sure that the deafening ring of silver being dropped to the marble table was. Becky’s footsteps heavily left the kitchen. 

She only had an hour left to get ready.

* * *

The exam wouldn’t have been difficult if it weren’t for her paper that’s been scratched coarse due to the erasures. That was a lie, it was every bit of challenging. For every time that nib of her pen stopped drizzling ink on paper; everything Becky would occupy her line of sight, her head, and every corner that enclosed the suffocating exam room. 

She really hoped she didn’t fail that one.

Thankfully she was far from the room. At least, the drizzle of light beer was starting to dissolve specters of anxiety that had been threatening to rear their ugly head. There were certainly ethical issues with the professor inviting out students for a celebratory shot, especially if some took it as an opportunity to know the correct answers. But Sasha was willing to break a few rules tonight. 

_‘Babe. I can’t go home early tonight, stay safe. I ordered you dinner.’_

She hadn’t been drinking because Becky was - and she hadn’t realized how she missed the taste of an old companion. Tonight, a friend she calls Bud and a brother she calls Jack were her companions. Last year, Becky would have giggled at the personification.

“You’re laughing alone,” a voice said, it was a sweet one - but she wasn’t sure if it sounded like a voice or her third bottle. “Care to share?” 

“Just thought of a stupid joke.” Sasha continued to stare straight past the windows, but no one really fucking cared about whoever was staring at what. 

“If it’s funny it ain’t stupid dude.” It was Bayley, who made herself comfortable leaning against the wall beside Sasha. “So how are you?” 

“Tough. I’m touuuuugh.” Sasha drawled, dragging her vowels as if the attempt would have colored her words with meaning. Not that anyone had any business knowing about her life, but being asked was a whole different kind of relief. 

For the entire week she’s felt like she was having her throat cut. 

“You’re drunk is what you are. No shame in it. I’m pretty close to getting there!” 

The silence was a crescendo that surged of thoughts that could never be spoken aloud. “...It’s tough.” Sasha finally admitted, in defeat. There wasn’t exactly any perspective in which they - both - would have emerged victorious. War tends to do that.”...And, I know I have no right. To suffer that is. Because she did and she used to be an angel. And I’m angry, and I have no right… but I don’t want to hate her and she’s turning into something that I don’t know how to handle.”

“You have a right to feel things.” Bayley assured. “Whatever it is, don’t hesitate to tell me okay? I care about you.” 

Bayley held her hands and Sasha looked back, wondering when her friend’s hair had gotten a little bit redder. 

_No… that's Becky._

She was definitely drunk and everything was blurry. Save for one fact. She was going home to Becky. 

“Bay, I have to go.” 

“I’ll walk you ho-”

“No. Please, enjoy yourself.” Sasha sterned, as if all of the alcohol had evaporated from her system. She was about to charge straight for the door before she turned back towards Bayley for the last time, “Listen. I appreciate you a lot. And I’m so glad that we’re friends… but I have a fiance at home waiting for me.”

Her soles felt like they were flying on the way home.

* * *

The house was dim. It was as if the shadows of the world had broken in and stolen everything that was happy. It was the dead of night.

“2AM huh… that’s got to be a record.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Baby? You’re awake.”

“Couldn’t sleep, but what’s it to ya’?”

She got to the living room and Becky sat still, staring past her once again. The dark had painted a stark contrast against her pale skin, and they looked brittle as bones. One gust of October’s wind and Becky would have shattered. 

“So did you take the exam at a bar or is that just my senses fucking with me.” Becky was calm like deep waters stirring hate at its floor. 

“Becky…” 

The woman chuckled bitterly. “Tell me. Is it my senses or is it you who’s fucking with me?”

A year ago a text message and excuse would have sufficed. Sasha opened her mouth, but inaudible sounds came out. When Becky raised her chin and looked _at_ her, her eyes were the windows to hell. She had not known horror until then. 

Sasha braced herself, summoning the last drop of resolve left in her body - to fight the mixture of fear and resentment that was seeping through her veins. She was not Becky’s enemy but Becky is starting to become hers. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke. “I was at the bar after the exams. I was there because I couldn’t handle things anymore.” 

“Was Bayley there?” Her voice was thin and cold. 

Sasha rasped, “Yes.”

“But you can’t be unfair. You can’t just assume things. Becky there is noth-”

Becky pulled her into a kiss. Her lips weren’t soft, they were starving; clawing their way into her throat until breath is ripped out of her lungs. When she pulled away, she faced Sasha with all the shadows in the room occupying the empty space that lived beneath her eyes. “Tell me that you still want me.”

* * *

Her lips trailed after Sasha’s body like she had only ever known rage, hungrily leaving marks in places that didn’t even elicit reactions. Nails dug deep and clawed at her back and Sasha was so sure that they were about to leave atrocious bruises in the morning. Every bit of Becky seared against her skin as if reminding her that there was such a place as hell. 

But Becky too remembered.

That Sasha was weak around the back of her ear, and she was sensitive all around the neck. Becky’s mouth was all over her and it was wet, and hot, and desperate. It had been far too long. The ghost of a touch was no longer just a distant memory.

Becky gripped her thighs and kept them ensnared to the bed. 

Sasha trembled as warm breath blew against her like smoke, she could feel anticipation build up inside of her as Becky flew closer - positioning herself against Sasha’s hips. Cold hands wrapped around Sasha’s neck as Becky rocked her back and forth, assuming a steady rhythm. 

It wasn’t what she asked for when she prayed for Becky to return. It wasn’t the cold of her fingertips and of her gaze and of her approach. It wasn’t the death behind her eyes or the blood in her chin that they couldn’t just seem to wipe off. It wasn’t whatever it was that was rough when Becky bedded her for the first time in how many months, but it should be enough. 

Except the grip had tightened and Sasha swore that her vision was blurring, until she realized Becky had lost control. She was still a little buzzed but Sasha wasn’t fighting wars and there was food on her plate for the months that Becky didn’t. 

So she fought against the grip.

Becky was strong, but Sasha wanted to live so she managed to get out, stumbling backwards. 

Epiphany struck Becky harder than the slap that Sasha begrudged and a tear rolled down her cheeks. “Shit…”

Day after day Sasha had given and wept, and all the months past have been just Becky - never herself. 

She had to know, because she was about to give up. “Why do you hate me so much?” 

“Because you were right!” Becky cried, the last of her voice scratching her throat hoarse. 

“Because you were right... and it was _bullshit_! I shouldn’t have gone there. It was meaningless bullshit. Bodies after bodies, and _nothing_ . And I had gone there, and I thought I was going to protect you but I wasn’t fighting for anyone. It’s fucking… bullshit. And I _hate you_ for not stopping me-"

“-Becky, I stopped you...” Sasha held her neck, still recovering from air being choked out of her.

“It wasn’t enough. I _hate_ you. For being too kind. For having this stupid stupid notion of agency. I shouldn’t have seen all of that. I shouldn’t have known them.”

The air was tense, and still, and quiet - like the wind whistling before the execution of a firing squad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, that was a bit hard to write.  
> Anyway, would love to acknowledge some literary works that partly inspired this fiction. Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente and Start Here by Caitlyn Siehl.


	4. Flashback: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, trigger warnings always apply.  
> Secondly, thank you for all the kudos/reviews! You guys make my heart full.

* * *

IV.

**We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.**

**-** Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain

_“What would it take to make you feel more content, happier and more satisfied?”_

_“Thirty minutes from now, when this session ends.”_

_“Ms. Lynch.”_

_“What? I used to be satisfied, thank you very much.”_

* * *

**Flashback**

* * *

The moon was hastily chased by dawn on a Tuesday morning. The birds had only begun to chirp against the cacophony of city noise. Rays of the busy sun glared past the curtains of Becky’s bedroom, and it wasn’t five more minutes until she could expect the holler of the newsstand vendor. Becky was satisfied that the warmth of her room glowed with an orange tint, because the purple locks that fell all over her chest stood out. Everything felt right and in order.

If peace had been a lady, Becky was sure that she just slept with her. The unbothered expression in her girlfriend’s face left her wondering as to what could have possibly erased the stubborn crease that lived between Sasha’s brows. Her eyes darted towards the bottle of wine on top of a rather messy table and she suddenly remembered why.

Tangled legs shifted beneath the blanket, and Sasha stirred awake. 

“Go back to sleep,” Becky kissed the forehead that limped just below her neck. 

“Can’t. I’m going to pass up on the pretty, pretty face in front of me.” Sasha murmured, almost inaudibly but the attempt at valiance still surfaced in the lilt of her voice. 

Becky smiled, she was the luckiest woman on earth. “Baby it’s _my_ job to be corny.” 

The night prior was nothing short of explosive. Sasha had just passed all of the requirements to get her Bachelor’s diploma. Law school was not far from sight. If happiness could probably be distilled in a moment, Becky would have carefully handpicked the night and sealed it with the roof of eternity. She smirked to herself, because that was exactly what she wanted to do. 

_Tomorrow._

Sasha was fast asleep, her forearm resting on top of her brows. 

* * *

Becky didn’t know how to cook, the majority of her life consisted of cracked eggshells and poor financial decisions - one of them being the fact that she ordered way too much for her liking. They were healthy though, just prepacked. Except when Sasha visits her place. She was a woman of many talents; being ridiculously smart and having the most capable hands in the kitchen. Giving back and saying thank you can come in many forms, but Becky reckoned that none of them says effort quite like attempting to cook breakfast. 

A smug smirk found its way into her face as she scrolled through a mediocre fluffy egg recipe. The short feat of pride was immediately cut short by an unknown number that rang her cellphone. 

“Yes?” Becky huffed, it was too early in the morning and eggs burn fast. 

_“Hello? May I speak to Rebecca Lynch?”_

“It’s Chewb- uh, yes! You’re speaking to her.” _Too early for that_ , she had to chuckle. At this point, she’s really the only person laughing at her own jokes. “Who’s this?”

_“This is from Baroness Jewellers, we’d like to inform you that there seems to have been a problem with your transaction regarding the diamond ring?”_

_Shit._ Her face soured and worry started to crawl up against her head, pouring out of her face through beads of cold sweat. “W-what do you mean?” _Shit. Shit Shit. It can’t be._

_“The installment plan you took out for the diamond ring, we just called the bank and Ma’am there’s apparently insufficient credit to see through the next installment.”_

When something happens enough, people get used to it and learn - she knew that. She just didn’t expect that it would take her more than about twelve times to learn how to properly manage idle wealth. Warnings entailed a rather stern way of phrasing ‘you better watch out next time’, and she wasn’t sure how many more next times she had left.

“I’m sorry, would you just please kindly cancel the diamond ring? Is it possible to get something like ah- the same design but with a different stone?” 

It could have been the broadway tickets, or the expensive New York hotel, or the dinner reservation. Her mind drifted to the frantic skies, floating around like every other brat with dust in their eyes and a bottomless trust fund - which was proving to be not so bottomless at all. 

_“You’re going to have to sign. That would be one of the options exclusive to Baroness Jewelers Ma’am. So far we have, emerald, sapphire, a garnet-”_

“Yeah I’ll take that one, I’ll pick it up once it’s done. When can it be done?”

Before the lady on the other end of the call could give her an answer, footsteps started to lightly shuffle from the staircase. Becky immediately flipped her phone to end the call, still in pursuit of a rapidly crumbling surprise. Was there anything she could do without Sasha?

“What is that smell?” Sasha lazily rubbed her eyes, looking like a million and one dollars with just a pajama and a tank top. “Becky please don’t tell me you cooked again.” It was supposed to be a joke, so Becky didn’t know why it felt like a bit of a jab of confirmation.

That was another present ruined. Nothing screams effort quite like the smell of burnt eggs and a botched breakfast. Except the proverbial 'it's the thought that counts' bullshit can only go so far when you're about to propose. Sasha doesn't deserve anyone who only ever _tried_.

* * *

“Shit!” Becky exclaimed through a mouthful of omelette. “Where’d you ever learn to make this shit. It’s _divine_. What was it again omu-what?”

“Omurice.” Sasha bit her lip in amusement. “Well back in college-”

Becky raised a brow and sported a knowing smirk, nudging Sasha with her toes as they both sat opposite of each other on Becky's couch. “You see, you say that like it wasn’t just _yesterday_ that you’ve finished all your units.”

Sasha blushed and repressed a smile that threatened to stretch so wide that Becky swore that they could touch the corners of the universe. Until that day, it didn’t seem possible to contain all that is promising in the frame of a human being. 

“Anyway, go on!” She requeued. 

Sasha shook her head, likely because of fascination. Anyone who has done what she has should be boasting of the same reaction. “You know how the stipend by the scholarship sponsors was ‘calculated to meet basic necessities’?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, so basic necessities basically meant eggs and ramen. So… I had to get real creative. Every day was a different kind of recipe.” 

“No shit? I mean when you mentioned that before, I _thought_ you were kinda’ kidding y’know.” Becky didn’t even notice that she'd managed to devour the rest of the plate that quick. “Baby how are you getting all the nutrients to stay fricken’ hot?” She eyed Sasha, almost resisting the urge to just run her hands all over the woman. Becky blamed the tank top. 

“You kept feeding me, stupid.” Sasha lightly slapped Becky’s calves which were resting on top of her thighs. “You know I’m surprised that you stuck with me even after you graduated.” 

Becky shrugged. “Nowhere else to go, no one else to do-”

“Fucker!”

“Exactly.”

Oddly enough, they both sighed at the same time. In reflection, probably, at least Becky thought so.

No one really knows when _right moments_ come, and maybe that is why people spend thousands upon thousands just to manufacture its magic. It is a fleeting concept, and a lot of people could miss it if they do so much as blink. But at that precise moment Becky saw the stars align from end to end, shifting from their place in the galaxy, bestowing her of courage and magic. To hell with the broadway tickets and the fancy dinners that sat in her filing cabinet.

Sasha broke the silence. “You could try to go for law too you k-”

“Will you marry me?” Becky blurted, all of hope and anxiety unraveling itself in the wave of just four words. 

It was around eight in the morning when Sasha said yes; and the burden to be more than who she was had never felt heavier placed on Becky’s incapable shoulders. 

* * *

The peak of sunrise often talked of lazy afternoons where the air conditioner was on and clothes were off. Although fall was hastily approaching, the outdoor air had felt particularly hot that day. 

“So, including last night, how many were those?”

“That’s unfair you can’t really include last night,” Sasha yawned, followed by a quick giggle. “Plus why are we counting?”

 _Because, my wife-to-be, it’s currently the best I could offer you._ “Don’t know,” Becky awkwardly shrugged. “So… TV?” 

“Yeah why not.” 

Sasha had definitely fallen asleep once or twice to CNN. News had for the recent months been their favorite bedtime story. Although she could never understand why her girl- fiancee would keep her eyes glued to news all the time, the passion just fascinated Becky.

_"This just in, you’re looking at a very disturbing live shot there. That is the World Trade Center and we have unconfirmed reports this morning that a plane has crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. CNN center right now is just beginning to work on this story…”_

She has never seen smoke that thick and black, and possibly suffocating. The jets crashed, one tower after the other; and then it came for the other cities. Manhattan was a ghost. Flames were coming out of the windows like they only ever intended to ravage anything that they see. The picture was so vivid that she felt fire creep above the layer of her skin, as if she had been in there.

Because give it a day and both of them would be near there. 

Becky called in to refund all the tickets and reservations and the bet that she has placed in New York, her heart beating louder than the response of each clerk that answered the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sad that my attempt at fluff ended that way. Sorry for the short chapter, will definitely have a follow-up soon.


	5. Flashback: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: The events of this chapter deals with the aftermath of 9/11. As always, if this is a trigger for you - I'd highly recommend not to pursue reading this chapter.
> 
> I want to dedicate this chapter to Hans, Isa, Brian. Aand Marc ofc.

* * *

V.

**You know the greatest lesson of history? It’s that history is whatever the victors say it is. That’s the lesson. Whoever wins, that’s who decides the history. We act in our own self-interest. Of course we do. Name me a person or a nation who does not. The trick is figuring out where your interests are.**

_“Do you want to talk about Afghanistan?”_

_“Well do you wanna stop asking stupid shit?”_

_“Rebecca, we can take as long as you need to.”_

_“What do you want me to say, it was hot like hell.”_

* * *

Fear is a godless, fickle being. Different people call it different names. It is the monster under a child’s bed; it is the ticking clock in the emergency room; it is the bullet behind the barrel of a gun, and the finger that pulls the trigger. It is a hungry spectre, all consuming in its rage like wildfire and concrete. 

But when the dust-covered snow of December fell in orbs of gray and dull light, terror had a face. He was a man, relaxed as a child; with a face full of beard and hands full of blood. 

When people lived and died by the words of another, Becky had only ever understood it within the territory of love. Because war was faraway. War was textbooks and lectures. War was late afternoons on a library, sealed within the aloofness of text. 

War wasn’t supposed to be three hours away, three months ago. Not anywhere near Sasha.

It wasn’t supposed to be an uncontrollable present, vulnerable towards the drawl of an aged man. 

Becky sat alone in the dark of her apartment, amidst the sea of an irresponsible mess; pizza boxes, cans of beer, and reckless youth. Her eyes were glued to the television, even minutes after the footage had ended and the screen rendered a mesh of food commercials. It was a face she could never forget. 

Evil had never looked more alive and corporeal.

_More… mortal._

It was everywhere but it was mortal.

Becky told herself that as she found her feet taking her to the grocery store and then into the only other place that made her feel incrementally safer. If Sasha had texted her to get cheese or milk for when she will come over the next day Becky did not remember. Her pulse took her to where she needed to be.

That night, she felt like she had finally found the ladder that bridged the stupidity of seventeen and the burden of being twenty-four. If the steel tucked tight beneath her waistband was heavy, it was nothing against the weight of fear that had slowly started to evaporate off of her shoulders.

* * *

“This is just wrong…” She heard Sasha whisper, frustration morphing into worry lines that aged her forehead. No matter how much her fingers massaged and smoothed them over, they didn’t seem to disappear. In front of Sasha was a cup of coffee that sat on top of piles of newspapers - from major companies to the local product.

Becky neared her, her palms eventually finding its way to ease the tension that knotted itself in Sasha’s back. “What’s up baby? What are you reading?” 

The entire year from the beginning of September had cast a cloudy spell all over the skies in shades of silvery anguish. From that point it had always felt like it was raining. Even if it was a couple of weeks before Christmas, the peddled lights just didn’t shine bright enough. 

“Remember Iman?” Sasha set the newspaper down, peering through page after page to look for something.

“...No?” 

“You met him, at- nevermind...” She sighed and continued to scan the pages until her hands settled on top of the middle page of the newspaper. “Here, this guy. That’s his brother.” The small picture in the newspaper displayed a mugshot of an Arabic-looking teenager. 

Becky read the title of the segment, “...Muslim detained for suspected acts of terrorism.” Her blood ran cold. 

“They probably didn’t even have a warrant...” Sasha’s voice sounded heavy, like mourning, like empathy. 

_How do you know that?_ She wanted to argue, but she could already hear the woman’s response. Not every person’s the same, she’ll say. And she would continue on to talk about how justice is supposed to be what is fair and procedural and indiscriminate. Becky couldn’t argue, because who argues with Sasha? She was right.

If dark circles could resemble each other, the boy who looked to be around fifteen to nineteen years old evoked bitter memories. She found herself fruitlessly searching her waistband for the cold of steel.

 _But what if he wasn’t just a teenager,_ she pondered.

If only there was a way she could take the fight to that who was truly evil.

* * *

What was the American flag? The course of history says that it was fifty stars of solidarity, and it was the stripes of freedom. It was the dominance of sheer size, the ever-expanding benevolent will; from sea to shining sea. It was… what everybody hid behind when they didn’t know what to do.

“You keep tapping your foot like that and you’ll wake Marc up over there,” the recruiter joked and pointed at one of the staff who looked like he had one too many tequila shots. 

Becky didn’t know what brought her to the office, just that the direction that her feet took her to felt every bit of right. It was as if every stride that brought her closer to the unassuming doors of the recruitment office left a footprint in the arc of the world.

“Oh! I’m- umm, sorry. Caught me off guard, I-it’s just too early I guess.” _I hope to fucking god that I don’t look like a drooling idiot._ “I’m sorry.” 

The recruiter had a warm smile, and the way that he chuckled made him seem like he had seen the end of war, where a rainbow awaited. “Don’t worry about it. Everybody’s nervous their first time stepping in here. Must have taken a lot of thinking and courage huh?”

“Quit simping old man,” the sleeping recruiter drawled. “Fucking’ hell.”

“Don’t mind him.” The recruiter cleared his throat and extended his hand to Becky. “My name’s Hunter, and… you’re Rebecca Lynch - aren’t you?”

“Yes sir.”

“You comfortable if I call you Rebecca or do you have preferred nicknames?”

 _Just Becky._ “Just Becky, sir.” _Just Becky…_ She had no idea how sobering the statement was. Coming out of her mouth, it felt like an admission: of inadequacy and lack of purpose - from a person that had lived her life running on pure luck and the benevolence of those who loved her. 

“So, you have a history degree. I see that it’s been unutilized, this could be valuable for the army you know?” 

Becky had to applaud at how hard the recruiter tried. _Come on, just tell me I’ve been useless._

“So, why history? Are you a fan of… Churchill? Lincoln? Any of those dead white men?” He chuckled. “But that’s not going to be the question. Kid, I really want to know - because I’m telling you that what’s out there is not pretty. So I want to know, why do you want to join the army?”

Even Becky had to stop and think and repeat the words over and over again. Because there were a lot of reasons that had stockpiled within her up until it reached the tipping point - subconsciously that is. It could have been the dwindling trust fund. The honor of being somebody beyond who she was. The safety and the peace of mind that comes from the contribution to subdue that which was evil.

But at every turn, the end of the maze had only screamed one reason. 

“Sasha.” 

* * *

Commotion was nothing new for anytime that Becky would visit a bar, and she _would_ know. The bar had been her classroom and the smoking area had been her church. But after a sea of paperwork and a dug-out graveyard of second thoughts, Becky wanted nothing else but to find momentary peace before everything gets caught in a hurricane.

Halcyon days, they called it. The calm before the storm. 

“Ma’am, that would be ten dollars." The driver said, pulling by the side of the road and snapping Becky out of her reverie.

She got off the cab and she was back into a dreamlike state, because was it really a reverie when it's about to become the reality of her situation?

If there was anything that Becky should have known was that commotion trailed after her like a shadow, darkened by the impulse of who she was - and who she fails to be: someone capable. But it was a Friday evening and she reckoned not to be too dramatic. Friday was commotion, it was chaos incarnate, it was the stress of every American finding its release. 

“What did you just say?” The voice might have been Sasha’s, but she wasn’t sure because it had echoed with deep offense. As the entire venue had unraveled before Becky’s eyes, she was made aware of Sasha sitting beside a brown-skinned fellow, being approached by a middle-aged man. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, _bitch_.” 

Something dangerous crossed Sasha’s eyes. “Listen. Do you know that Iman here is a nurse? He’s probably going to save your fat ass whenever you’d land in the hospital for cardiac arrest for the next pack of Cheetos you find slipping down your throat. You’re going to apologize to him and I’m not taking no for an answer. Do it. ” 

And when the man moved, bile rose out of Becky’s throat. She had been in one too many brawls to know the beginnings of violence, and what exactly stirs it. “We’re going to bomb Mecca,” the man spat, raising his fist and Becky could feel her feet move through the speed of sound. She managed to absorb the blow that had initially targeted either Sasha or her friend.

Air left her gut as she curled up in shock and pain. “F-fuck.” Her eyes roamed upwards, towards the man who didn’t seem like he was going to stop.

On a stroke of panic, Becky reached for the gun on her waistband and pointed the barrel of steel against the speeding jackass. “You lay a finger on anyone and I don’t care if I go to jail. I will end you.”

A lot of people had claimed inebriation when power came in the form of a little invention wrapped within their palms; the power to threaten, to spare, and to destroy or be merciful. But the surge of power for Becky on that day had been different. She felt the reality of responsibility weigh down her shoulders. 

She felt legitimate, culpable, fully adult and capable.

* * *

Sasha was silent the entire ride home up to the point at which they got to Becky’s apartment. The two had decided to live together for the days wherein Sasha didn’t have work. The clanging of metal keys as Becky opened the door rang heavily against her ear. And in the absence of a reaction or a word, she somewhat knew what Sasha had been thinking of.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Baby?” She cleared her throat, attempting to add a little bit of volume and tenderness to her voice. Becky wasn’t sure if it worked, but it was the best that she could do just right after a long day.

No response. Sasha was miles away from her apartment - her eyes burning past wallpapers and concrete.

“Sasha talk to me.”

Somebody, somewhere, at some time had told Becky, ‘be careful of what you wish for’. It was too damn true because when Sasha’s eyes rolled towards her, Becky hoped to every god that existed that what was beneath her eyes was anything _but_ disappointment. 

“A fucking gun.” Sasha chuckled, but her brows and lips quivered with a different kind of emotion. “Do you want to tell me? What the _hell_ are you doing with a gun?” 

She _knew it_ . Deep inside her, she just knew the spite that brewed within Sasha’s words - and it was borne of concern, and it was every bit patronizing. _You’re too fucking reckless to own a gun,_ Sasha’s eyes had said. _I know you._ It stung.

“Sash- you know that I’m not going to use it recklessly…” She so badly wanted the justification to come across. _I’m going to marry you. I’m not the same college jackass that you dated._ “ _You know_ that’s the world’s been dangerous, and especially at these times-”

“Way to fucking prove it. Yeah, that wasn’t reckless what you did out there.” Her arms were crossed. Sasha was an inch short from Becky but _damn_ did the girl have a multitude of ways to make her feel small. “What if he had people with him? Becky you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“But I di-”

“And _at these times? At these times_!? For fuck’s sake! You _know_ that the last thing this country needs is terror on our own soil.” 

Becky’s breath hitched, and all the blood in her body rose to her face. “Well it fucking happened Sasha! What do you want me to say?” 

“ _It. Fucking. Happened_. “ All of yesterday’s anguish was finally surfacing through the scowl that found itself in Becky’s mouth. “And none of your progressive _crap_ was able to stop it. No one was. And it’s going to happen again. And I can’t stop it, but if there’s anything I could do to make us feel a little bit safer around these parts. You can bet that I’m going to fucking do it.”

Becky took heavy breaths. She wanted to say more but Sasha’s face softened. 

“Baby… I know you’re scared,” Sasha walked towards her, as if tiptoeing, as if avoiding the lines of the wooden floor. “But fear is the last thing that’s going to help us right now. You’re right, nothing was able to stop- …to stop the attacks. But being angry won’t stop it either.” Sasha closed the gap between them, sitting Becky down the couch and wrapping her arms around her neck. 

“I don’t know what to do…” Becky looked at her hands, her head resting on top of Sasha’s chest. She can’t remember what they had felt like when they weren’t shaking. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Sasha whispered, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll get through this… just promise me that you’ll talk to me about _these_ things.” 

Her heart sank. It could have been guilt, or dread, or regret that anchored down what was supposed to be a sentence of comfort. Becky swallowed the lump that was growing on her throat as she disentangled herself from Sasha. “Babe… I-”

“I signed up as an officer.”

Becky would always remember how limp Sasha’s hands had fallen that day.

* * *

**Night Before Deployment**

* * *

“I still hate you,” Sasha mumbled as her head rested on top of Becky’s chest. It was way before daybreak but Becky heard Sasha, she couldn’t exactly stop thinking for the duration of the night. “Why couldn’t you just be a goddamn history teacher?”

Her words had weight. _It’s not your war_ , she knew what Sasha was trying to say. _This is all sorts of wrong._

“I know...” Becky whispered, quiet as dusk. 

Sasha sighed. “But I hate myself more for letting you do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this fic is fucking hard to write and I'm glad I got that out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings apply, please proceed cautiously.

* * *

**VI.**

**“It’s all right,” he told her. “Things hardly ever work on the first try. We’ll make another, a better one.”**

_ “How connected do you feel to the people around you?” _

_ “...” _

* * *

"What did you see?" Sasha's throat felt tight and her head felt like they were emptied, they had consumed far too many dying promises and had suffered through a thinning resolve. 

She took a deep breath, because she was going to need it. Her heart could only pray that her mouth would be sincere. “Becky.  _ What did you see _ ?  _ Who _ are  _ they _ ? Who are  _ you _ ? Because I am dying over here! I look at you, and I don’t know what the fuck happened to you - or where the fuck you’ve been, or if you’re even okay!”

Moonlight bounced off the silvery gleam of tears that glassed Becky's eyes. But they were also wide and red and feral - exasperation making itself known in the paleness of her eyelids. She looked as if the world had swallowed her alive, and she had gnawed her way out of its belly. Becky only glared at Sasha, breathing and breathing like it was the only thing she knew how to do.

“Because clearly you’re not.” Sasha bitterly let out a cough that had the semblance of a chuckle. “You don’t tell me  _ anything _ . You need to talk to me Becky.” Exasperation simmered at every part of her body, wanting to drag her out of the house and into daylight. 

“What  _ happened _ ?”

She needed to know. Not because her voice was hoarse and her neck was bruised tender - but because she, for months, had slept with clenched fists up until the day Becky went home. She needed to know because she had waited for Becky for a gruelling eternity that was merely the stretching of an agonizing moment. She needed to know because she had weathered storms and so did Becky but none of them knew of the names of each other’s monsters. She needed to know because she loved her. 

They said that when you love someone, you don’t make them tell the stories of war. But what was love if it weren’t what was naked and true?

Becky stood there with a tense jaw, the lines on her face more visible; the brighter moon had cast darker shadows. Her mouth was sealed shut but it quivered as if war was happening between her lips and her tongue to see if the words would stay in or break free. She breathed, and closed her eyes before it shot open as quickly as it had closed. 

“I want to…” Becky whimpered, her voice small as a vapor caught in the wind. “But you wouldn’t understand.”

_ I would try to. _ Sasha wanted to say.  _ I would try to because the only other option is ‘this’.  _ But Becky had already walked out of the door and she couldn’t help but falter at the way her feet slowed as if chains were wrapped around them - ever so heavy and punishing. 

Sasha wanted to give up, but she knew that in the grand scheme of the universe, she will never; so she just wept.

_ I love you. I’ll love you until all hell freezes over. _

* * *

_ “Sasha? Hello? The signal here is a motherfucker but I hope you could hear me.” _

_ “Yeah! Yeah, I can hear you. How are you? Did they finally serve a proper meal there?” _

_ “Babe it’s still crap - whatever that chicken was, I’m sure it had hair in it. Shit I miss you, how’s uhh- law school?” _

_ “It’s nice, I don’t really feel like mingling though. I really miss you. I am going to cook for you when you get back, especially that you’ve been mentioning apple crumble pie for the last three calls. Take care. I love you.” _

* * *

The hour before daybreak boasted a crack in the sky where the sun shyly peeks. Depending on the desires of the stars, the clouds would sometimes writhe with apricot accents and a purplish hue - they looked like remembering. Most people miss the transition, but Sasha didn’t really sleep. Instead, she marvelled at how the color of purple could be so bloodless when it was in the sky instead of skin - faraway from the tragic affairs of being a creature of the earth; destined to always hunt and be hunted, to carry desire, to love and to hate until they perish. The serenity of the aurora promised nothing, but the head start against noise and monsters.

She wasn’t sure if it had been hours, but she had been staring at the ceiling long enough to familiarize herself with its rot and texture; almost enough to linger between the corners and learn about their names. Maybe, in being lost within the trenches of her room, she would find an uncomplicated answer to the questions that defined her life. Like,  _ what now? _

Everything that Becky had said sprawled out before her eyes like broken constellations, its stars shining separately in ways that do and don’t make sense. If Becky had sought to clarify, Sasha’s mind could only come up with a thousand different questions - each of them driving her closer to dread. 

_ Bodies after bodies... _

_ Who was… ‘them’? _

Them. Names and faces of people who are lost beneath the soil, both buried and not. All of  _ them _ with unique lived experiences and stories that would never be told. It was a tragedy that no side could ever justify; it has always been a hill that Sasha would live by. There was no victory, in war - just a matter of who loses more. If the dead could only speak, she was sure that they would be against it all too. 

Because beneath shallow graves there were no heroes, just miles and miles of darkness, just souls that no longer have a chance.

She felt her bones shudder and writhe, and when they did, she was reminded of how the body and the heart could experience tragedy so uniquely. The appearing hand-shaped bruises on her legs, on her arms - could speak nothing of the welt in her breaking heart. They were their own pains. She shut her eyes so tight just thinking about how Becky must have felt.

She shut her eyes so tight, just thinking of what she could have done to change it. If she had been a little bit more persistent, more vocal… if she hadn’t thought that maybe caring meant letting the person you love have a shot at life. A dangerous life, but a life nonetheless. 

Look where that got them. 

So maybe Becky was right to hate her. Sasha hated herself too. Guilt settled on her back as if it wasn’t enough that her heart had already been heavy and that her limbs hadn’t already ached. It was a selfish creature.

But Becky was _ alive _ .

They still have a chance.

* * *

_ “Hey, Becky! Oh my god, I was so worried when you didn’t call last week. What happened? I miss you so much.”  _

_ “Shit, baby I’m so sorry. They were teaching me about uh’ some of the practical shit on the field y’know.” _

* * *

Sasha woke up and half of the day had already gone past her. Afternoon rays were striking and judgemental, and the setting sun was far from gentle. She couldn’t remember what it was that stirred in her dreams but she just felt like she had cried. Her throat was dry. Upon touching the side of her cheeks and feeling a bit of a crust form a line from her eyelids to the side of her face - she realized that that was the case.

Although her limbs felt like they couldn’t move and all the blood had descended to pin her down the bed, her eyes roamed around the bedroom. Becky still wasn’t there. Her heart dropped, in the same way that it falls in love, and in the same way that love has throats cut. 

_ Please.  _ She prayed, staring at the foot of her bed and her feet that couldn’t seem to lift themselves, pleading to whichever god that listened.  _ Please just let me have this. _

She needed to push, unlike before. Never again. Becky was hers and if death wasn't able to snatch her away, so won’t  _ living _ .

* * *

_ “How’d that go?” _

_ “Oh yeah it was fucking hard to remember every part of the procedure. But I got a new friend out of it, some sergeant Flair? She’s been there for a bit, she’s a total bro- helping me familiarize and shit. How about you? How’s school, you having fun over there?” _

* * *

Desire is but a nudge from a self that believes that it deserves better. Sasha dragged her heavy limbs to descend the quiet flight of stairs, every step closer to the living room was every step closer to discovery so she held her breath - lest it wasn’t everything she wanted it to be.

Maybe it was trauma, too. For her. 

That it took more than a few months to stop feeling like she could shatter for everytime she would go down and find an empty living room. Actually, pain never really stops - it just dulls, until it feels more like a memory rather than a heart attack.

The living room wasn’t empty, though. Apologies had furnished it in the form of at least three different bouquets and a face that couldn’t look at her. 

Sasha paced closer, swallowing fear and pride and every bit of hindrance that had separated her from Becky. “Becky…”

Becky sat unflinching.

“Becky, look at me.”

“And what?” Becky whispered, it sounded shaky but muffled. She couldn’t tell by the way that her head had been tilted away from Sasha in the darkening living room. The skies were already starting to close. 

“I have to know if you’re okay.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

Sasha could tear up, because she doesn’t remember the last time since Becky’s voice had been loud and boisterous and characteristic. And to that point it had never sounded so nonexistent, as if every word had sounded like they wanted to disappear for as soon as they were spoken.

“I know that,” Sasha moved closer, by at least a negligible inch.”Becky, please listen to me.”

She took a deep breath, looking for courage down her lungs or wherever she could find it. “I wasn’t there. I know, but please. Can we- at least try? I am  _ so _ lost and  _ so, so  _ worried, and I don’t know what happened. I _ need _ you to trust me. I love you.”  _ I need your help to make this work. _

“...I’m try-ing, Sash.” Her voice broke midway. “I’m trying but I’m not sure to what extent- how much I could- there’s just too much. But I’m really trying.”

She wasn’t sure if she saw tears, Becky covered her face. The flowers in front of Sasha had looked like they were watered from the produce of agony but had rebelled into bloom, to spring, to a promise - that it wouldn’t be what it was made from. 

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

It had been a full minute of silence for when Sasha had slowly dragged the tip of her fingers towards Becky’s hand, a full minute of asking for permission. 

It was cold and wet and trembling.

* * *

_ “So if I were there, like right now. What’s the first thing you’d want to do?” _

_ “I don’t know, cuddle?” _

_ “That’s really offensive Sash I really thought you would’ve jumped in and married me right then and there.” _

_ “Don’t be silly! You know tha-” _

_ “I know, I know! Civil union’s not a wedding blah blah. But still, it is to me. You know what I mean?” _

_ “Well, then if that’s the case I guess I’m marrying you. Right then and there. Vermont sounds great, now that I think about it.” _

* * *

It was the first time they have been properly out together, and with friends nonetheless. Becky had dressed sharply, a finely pressed button-down and slacks that were cut to compliment her legs. The woman had filled out over the duration of a month or so. And for the first time Becky had looked just like a dream for a woman who’s had one too many nightmares.

They pulled over a modern-styled house at the corner of the gated suburb. While the drive had been slow, Sasha noticed how Becky had attempted to hide just how tight she had clung to the edge of her seat through rocking to whatever was in the radio. 

“Here we are,” Sasha sighed in relief as they stepped out of the car.

“So how much are you willing to bet that she’s blonde?” Becky smirked, hands in her pocket, eyes to the clearer skies. It was relieving to see her relax.

“Finn’s new partner?”

“Mhm.”

Sasha raised a brow, it was a running gag between all of them. “You know what? If she’s not still in college, I’m sleeping in the garage.”

Becky chuckled as a response, it sounded dignified and hearty. Even though eye-contact has been sparse, Sasha couldn’t help but smile. 

_ Thank you, I love you. _

The door of the house cracked open, revealing a clean-shaven Finn Balor alongside a short blonde who looked like she was no more than a blonde, young, cheerleader. Sasha shot Becky an eyebrow-raise to which Becky responded to by a knowing smirk. Finn, who seemed oblivious to this exchange stepped closer to hug both of them - starting with Becky. 

“I was worried that you guys wouldn’t accept the invitation at all!” 

Becky politely shook her head, “Well it’s no problem at all. Shit, I need some goddamn air after being cooped up for so long yeah?”

“I can imagine...” Finn muttered, almost mindlessly before he realized that there was a split-second of dead silence between the group. “Anyway! This is Alexa, guys. My girlfriend.”

“I’m Sasha.” Sasha extended a hand towards the rather excitable young girl, who just jumped to hug her instead. It buzzed of a university spirit that she would rather forget. “Oh.”

Becky practically mimics whatever Sasha had done, but Alexa oddly kept a firm distance from Becky when she moved stiffly in front of her. Alexa pulled out a flimsy salute that looked like she had just wiped sweat off of her forehead. Sasha saw Becky tense. 

“Thank you for your service!”

Becky’s jaw tightened, and Finn looked like he caught on immediately. Sasha opened her mouth to speak but it seemed as if Becky had beaten her to it.

“Ma’am,” Becky acknowledged Alexa with a nod. “So… what are we waiting for? I’m starving.” 

“Right! Dinner...” Finn shook his head out of its daze, but a worried smile lingered on his lips even as they entered the house. 

The house was furnished with a mixture of modern designs mixed with a zen-esque mood from the decorations that sat on top of surfaces. Notably, there were varying shot glasses, pebbles, Japanese liquor, and a miniature fountain that embellished the dining room - its water running so gracefully as it emanated a peaceful sound. Sasha saw Becky stare at it, and she couldn’t be blamed - it was beautiful.

“So, Finn! It’s been so long, how have you been?” Sasha gorged on a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “This is really good.”

“Really good,” Becky echoed, a bit too focused on the moderately-elegant aesthetic of Finn’s chinawares. 

“Thank you, Alexa helped me make some of it. I would never have guessed that this girl would actually be good at cooking.”

“Hey!” Alexa blushed. “Just because I'm like a jock doesn’t mean I can’t be smart or like know how to do house stuff.”

“So, what are you taking up Alexa?” Sasha asked, raising an eyebrow at Finn.  _ Yeah, we know she’s in college.  _ Finn shook his head and looked down in embarrassment, he too, instantly looked like he was a couple of years younger from the red that blossomed in his cheeks. 

“Oh I’m doing political science, I’m just in my second year.” 

“Second year, huh?” Becky looked back, at the fountain that had been the element preventing everyone from falling into a teasing silence around Alexa. Becky’s right foot rhythmically beat against the sound of water as she had started to eat a little bit faster. 

“Yeah, honestly? It’s difficult but I’m surviving, it’s just like  _ really  _ annoying when people tell me the degree is useless here and there.” 

“Oh, tell me about it,” Becky chuckled. “I finished up history,  _ barely _ scraped by cause’ I thought it was cool and all? Shit thought the hardest thing would be graduating when it was actually finding a job that didn’t say librarian!” 

“ _ Right?  _ Oh my gosh. But I feel like, in political science, career choices are more broad. You know?” 

“Mmm.” Becky hummed, once again too focused on her plate. 

“I mean,” Sasha butted in. “Their career trajectories are roughly the same. Most people that would want to pursue the deeper extent of field anyway take postgraduate degrees.” 

“I guess that’s true...” Alexa pouted, and Finn let out either a nervous laughter or a relieved sigh - Sasha wasn’t sure but she could sympathize. Even before the army, Becky didn’t exactly have the highest of tolerance. 

“So...” Alexa attempted to requeue, and Becky looked like her eyes squinted for a quick second. “It must feel good to be back home?”

Becky froze, as if trying to reel herself back to reality. She was constantly looking back a couple of seconds prior and Sasha had to wonder if something about the decor bothered her. 

“Mmm,” Becky hummed once again, except, this one’s vibration seemed to pass through gritted teeth. “Finn? Ya have sum’ booze with ya’?”

“For you, of course!” Finn expressed a toothy grin, that stretched too wide for it to contain just one emotion. “Let me just get it, Alexa do you want to come with me?”

“Ahh,” Alexa looked back and forth between Finn and Becky. “...What was it like out there?”

Becky licked her lips and gripped her utensil so hard that Sasha saw new veins surface from the back of her hand. 

“Alexa?” Finn sterned. 

“Yes okay!”

Finn and Alexa rushed upstairs, possibly towards where they had stored liquor. Becky’s fist hasn’t unclenched and anxiety rose out of Sasha’s throat like bile. 

“Babe, are you okay?”

Becky was staring past everything again, there was a movie in her mind, and it seemed to have gotten her seething. She was breathing, rhythmically, with her foot, and with the tremors of her fist.

_ The fountain _ . 

Sasha paled by the realization. “Babe. It’s not real.” She moved closer to Becky, kneeling in front of her, hands covering her ears - navigating the maze that was her tresses. “It’s not real.” She kissed her forehead, unsure of what else to do, she was tossing a coin hoping that one of the two answers would be right. “You’re with me.”

That was when a loud pop was heard from upstairs, followed by a growing commotion. Becky’s hands jerked against the wineglass that sat in front of her, launching it straight towards the floor. It had sounded like the cork of a champagne hitting glass and a bickering couple. 

“Baby.” Sasha shivered, Becky’s eyes were terrifyingly wide open - as if she had been both a predator and a prey. 

“Where’s the keys?” Becky growled, unflinching. 

Sasha heard what was the cork of a champagne hitting glass and a bickering couple but she could only pray to anyone who would ever listen, that Becky heard something remotely similar. Because god forbid the alternative.

“Sasha. The  _ fucking _ keys.”

“Becky I don’t think-”

* * *

_ “Good afternoon, AT2 Barron speaking. How may I help you sir or ma'am?” _

_ “You’re-... Good day sir, may I speak to Rebecca Lynch?” _

_ “May I ask who is calling?” _

_ “Sasha Banks.” _

_ "Lieutenant Lynch is currently away at the moment, would you like to leave a message?" _

_ “Oh.. just please tell her I called, and to call soon. Thank you…” _

* * *

Sasha was on the edge of her seat the entire time, as if the life of her heart depended on the pull of the gear. Becky had violated at least three different traffic laws, as she sped through what was supposed to be a thirty-minute drive to a ten-minute one. She drove as if she, too, possessed Sasha’s life apart from her own. She drove as if they were running, always together, in it together, towards whatever it was past the cruelty of sunset - where there was only anger and fear. 

When Becky stopped for their apartment, Sasha felt nauseous, blood and beat pumping hard against her ear. It was nothing against the intensity of Becky’s erratic breathing as she haplessly searched for the apartment keys in her own pocket. She eventually found it but couldn’t find which key was for the first and second and third lock.

Frustration seeped into Becky’s eyes in a reddish hue which coarsed from the veins in her eyes to every part of her body where blood flowed, eventually finding its way down to her fist as she threw the set of keys to the ground. 

She began pounding the door with bruising knuckles and a battlecry; like a caged animal who’s never known the meaning of safety, who’s only ever wanted to find release. 

And it was terrifying. 

Becky was terrifying, and it broke Sasha’s resolve. It wasn’t her fault. She used to be an angel but they turned her into something else. 

Sasha picked up the set of keys and tried to open the door when there was space between Becky and the gate.

When it opened. Becky ran and ran, like it’s the only thing she’s been taught from the minute that she grew legs. And deafening cries persisted, it was the only content in the air. Nothing else. Just wailing, and the shuffling of feet, and the woman who seemed to have found a corner to hide from the rest of the world. 

She stared and stared like nothing before her eyes were present. Becky was living in a nightmare that Sasha couldn’t pull her out of, Sasha didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how she felt - so she sat a meter away from Becky who was pulling her own hair and crying. 

Sasha hadn’t even noticed the broken dishes and decor that flew across the wall up until the point at which Becky was already calmly rocking herself by the corner of their living room.

She didn’t even remember how either of them had slept but when she remembered that there was only paralyzing black.

* * *

_ “...Would you like to leave a message?" _

_ “Oh.. yes umm...” _

_ “Hi, Becky. It’s been a while… I really hope you’re doing fine out there. I just nearly perfected my first exam at law school, and I got the highest score in the history of that class. I’m really happy about that, you know? But also, I feel like it’s because I’ve been doing a lot of studying? It’s so empty out here without you. Call me soon… bye.” _

* * *

Sasha woke up in her living room and her throat was dry and a blanket was spread all across her body. 

Becky was nowhere to be found, nor was the car. 

She sent voicemail after voicemail - pleading, still. Even if the gods have never listened to her. They were cruel when they sent Becky back, and sent what was merely a writhing and dying shell. She  _ hated _ them. And whatever it is that they’ve done to the only thing that ever mattered.

It was around late afternoon when Sasha received a lengthy voicemail.

_ “Hey… Sasha. I just wanted to let you know… don’t worry about me. I’m safe. I-I’m on the road to Vermont right now, it’s a pretty long drive you know?” _

_ “When I imagined myself driving down these roads there was only one picture in my mind. That was with you. And… uh, that’s honestly one of the only things that kept me going for as long as I have. And now… I’m really not sure how to feel driving here with an empty passenger seat. But I have to be away.”  _

_ “I’m… fucked up Sash. I need to get better. For you, okay?” _

_ “You know… there was this urban legend they bullshitted about in the barracks. Some Russian kinda shit. They said that some buncha’ Russian engineers were able to- y’know? Drill a hole so deep they could feel hell. Hah. They said that it felt hot as fuck, like the air could burn through your skin.” _

_ “They said it was hot out there in hell, but in mine it wasn’t. Y’know? It was… raining. I... don’t know why I’m keeping it all from you but I hope that one day I’d have enough strength to… show you who I am now.” _

_ “I’m going to start taking therapy seriously, but I can’t be dangerous to anyone. I wanna have a chance at life, again.” _

_ “I can totally understand if you couldn’t wait for me but I’m still hoping that you will… so please wait for me? I love you. I want to get married to you. You’re the only love of my life and I will always, always, want to live because you exist.” _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That had my heart beating fast. It's still beating right now. Fucking took me out, hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.  
> One last chapter W00T, damn.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a bit of a short but gut-wrenching and heartwarming ride! Thank you all for riding this out with me, I really appreciate the quality of the love and support that I've gotten to see this fiction through. So far, I've poured so much of my heart and soul in it - more than in anything that I've written. I do not claim to represent the collective and lived experience of the people that this fiction might mirror, but I've tried the hardest so that I could give their stories justice. I hope that through this short story, some of us could be whisked into the shoes of another. Again, thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Before we proceed, I want to thank a couple of people for being so supportive throughout this process.
> 
> phantom_rain, you've been a tremendous voice of support and an inspiration for me. Please continue telling nuanced and wonderful stories. Without your encouragement, this fiction probably would have never happened.
> 
> Slytherin_Of_The_Sith, we've only gotten close as of late but I've been reading your fictions since I've been a fan, and I'd like to thank you for the support for Team Bae, for this fiction, and for storytelling that is both sensitive as it is exciting.
> 
> #TeamBaeForever
> 
> Lastly, Marc. You've been so helpful and amazing and supportive throughout this ride, and I cannot thank you enough for helping me shape these characters and the story as to be fully human and well-rounded. I wish you all the best in life.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

**Every hour, she thinks, someone for whom the war was memory falls out of the world. We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.**

_“...So, Ms. Lynch. Is there anything at all that you want to talk about today?_

_“Yes.”_

_“I do...”_

* * *

**4 Months Later, Spring**

* * *

Nothing can really prepare you for war. One can only teach the body to relax, brief and debrief, to shoot with its eyes open, to sleep in the arms of guilt. No one can really prepare for the sight of a person’s eyes flickering with fear and finality as life flashes before their very eyes; whether they’re the enemy with a pointed rifle, or a friend that says ‘go on’. 

After the war, and after love: no one is who they were. The best bet is to put yourself back together, with pieces found on the floor. And to learn the difference between living and surviving, and to try to do the first. Incomplete or otherwise, everybody starts somewhere.

A full season had passed since Becky had last seen Sasha. So much can happen in a span of a few months. Winter was the most difficult, another kind of battle that she had won. She had won because she saw through the other side of winter; she won because flowers were growing and what was before her eyes was spring. 

She was ready.

And maybe the world wasn’t, because it is in its nature to keep spinning as it was in her nature to try; but she was ready, and she could only hope that Sasha was still, too. 

Becky nervously sat at the corner of the diner, looking out of the window - virtually ready for anything, even though she hadn’t been born that way. Because she knows that all the other answers to her text message apart from the word, ‘I’m on my way’ is going to break her heart for the millionth time. But she’s grown to _at least_ know where to start picking up the pieces. 

Every passerby looked like Sasha, so Becky looked away, she looked at her palms that have been permanently scarred so that she would never ever forget the life she’s been given. 

The door opened and she flinched, but at least she knew to remind herself that it was just the chime of bells. 

Sasha was beautiful as spring, black hair flowed to her waist and caught the early morning’s rays; as if all that’s good and light in the world has bestowed her of their grace, and made sure that sunshine rose from wherever she will stand. She carried a gentle smile on her lips, and the twinkle of the universe in her eyes. 

“Hi,” Sasha tucked a stray hair behind her ear. 

“Come with me?” Becky nodded, extending her elbows out for Sasha to clasp.

* * *

Minutes felt like hours on the drive to their destination. Becky couldn’t stop fidgeting, and tentative silence fell between the two of them. It wasn’t tense, but it was patient. They were both waiting for the tale that told of each other’s lives. Sometimes, people grow apart, but it is up to them to sow it back together.

The car pulled over towards green fields that seemingly went on forever, white crosses atop soil, forever tethered both to the ground and to the national heart. Hopefully, each one with an uttered story. It has always been up to those who were alive to tell the tales of the ones that have come and gone; to ensure that they have existed, and to make sure to let the world know that, at one point they have been children too. 

Becky led the trail and Sasha quietly followed, until they stopped somewhere around the middle. She knelt down and sat in an indian position, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, lighting two of them at once.

“Her name’s Charlotte Flair,” Becky started, with a breath so heavy - she wasn’t sure if she could ever let the words get out. _You got this_ , _Becky._

_For Charlotte._

She set down a portable ashtray and lay down one of the cigarettes in front of the wooden cross. “I was a dumb kid who always left my cigarettes somewhere. Charlotte smoked Camels but I smoked Lucky Strikes, but at least they were both reds. She would always share one with me.” 

Becky didn’t know why words felt a little more stubborn on her lips, as if they wanted to die before they could even come out - and release themselves instead through her eyes. But she had to tell her story, _their_ story. 

It’s the least she could do.

“She… she was a sergeant. And although there was a slight difference in rank, I kind of always felt like she was more of a leader than I ever was… Y’know?” Becky took a long drag from her cigarette, to give herself the room for her eyes to start speaking. 

“Sasha, she saved me.” She blurted, an uncomfortable wrench turning her gut from the inside out, and the next few words quickly rising from her throat. But someone _had_ to know, someone _needed_ to know. Because that is the only way they’ll live. “T-The mission was supposed to be safe… but then _they_ found out. A-and the next thing we knew, it was cold, dark, and lonely. It happened one by one and- and Charlotte, she did something but they found out about it.” 

Tears fell from her lashes. She couldn’t breathe, she shut her eyes, to replay the memories. They hurt but they were real. 

“We fucking failed, I _froze_ Sasha. And she-she told me… _‘Go, don’t look back’_ . _‘Go home to your fiancee’_. So I fucking did, and I kept running and running like a damned coward. My legs were so fucking numb I thought I could lose them.” 

“I couldn’t forget the last time I’d seen her face.” Becky sobbed, heaving, the words hoarse out of her throat and the cigarette tucked between her fingers long forgotten. “It was raining but fuck, it was clear as day. She was smiling, and then… it’s all I could see for days.” 

_That’s how I got to you._ _And I can never repay her._

* * *

It was past sunset and they both sat in heavy silence amidst the mass of graves. The skies had been blessed by a bed of stars so early in the night, they twinkled so bright that Becky could feel that at least one of them could have been Charlotte - smiling down, with promises of the sun rather than flood. 

Sasha shifted next to her and sat up.

“Becky?” Her voice too was hoarse. Becky wasn’t able to notice it but Sasha too, had been crying. 

“Yeah?”

“Come home to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Leave your thoughts, and once again, thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes that weren't cited belong to the book "All The Light We Cannot See"  
> If you enjoyed this, please feel free to leave kudos/reviews :)


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